


home is where the heart is

by asongofsnow



Series: royals [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A little bit of angst, F/M, Fluff, Hugs, Jon and Sansa are Cousins, Modern Royalty, Modern Westeros, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Sansa-centric, Supportive Sisters, like just a little
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 03:57:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20753966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asongofsnow/pseuds/asongofsnow
Summary: SPOTTED:Queen in The North hugs betrothed King Beyond the Wall at fundraising gala after he came back from a diplomatic trip.





	home is where the heart is

**Author's Note:**

> For Kate, who encouraged me. Thank you!
> 
> Inspired by this: https://twitter.com/sansaravenclaw/status/1176160906801291265
> 
> Jon is three years older than Sansa here.
> 
> Title of the fic is from London Boy by Taylor Swift.
> 
> I hope you enjoy! 💕
> 
> p.s: I made this edit on Tumblr for this fic https://sansaravenclaw.tumblr.com/post/187922750552/spotted-queen-in-the-north-hugs-betrothed-king  
Please go give it some love if you feel like it 🥺

****The waiter had barely left and Arya's glass was empty again. Sansa sighed, wondering if she should tell her sister to slow down, after all she was the princess of Winterfell, she couldn't simply get sloshed during a fundraising gala, specially when everyone was expecting the Stark sisters to cause a scene.

Sansa had been crowned at the young age of eighteen. Father had died first, in the South, and his death had been labeled an accident, but she remembered perfectly what happened. How the young southern King who was once her bethtroded had lost his head and decided to take her father's along with it. She remembered thinking her heart would never break again, not after knowing such pain.

Mother and Robb, her oldest brother and heir to the North, had died some time after. A real accident - or so she was told - with the royal jet, during a diplomatic trip to work peace with the South. Everything had gone perfectly, Robb had even agreed to a marriage to smooth things, a political union between the two kingdoms that would settle their differences for good. Then the plane had crashed. He had just turned nineteen.

Sansa discovered that her heart could break again. 

Surprisingly, the second time had hurt less.

Robb's death had brought to the attention that she was now the heir. Princess Sansa, Winterfell's daughter, would soon become the Queen in the North, and with that came responsibilities that she didn't know if she'd be ready for. There was no time, though, to second guessing things, no time for questions or for being afraid. She was a Stark and she was the heir. She would be brave, like her father and mother and brother, like all the other Starks that had ruled before her. She would be a Lady, yes, but she would also be a Queen, and she would need to learn how to properly rule to ensure happiness and prosperity to her people.

Uncle Benjen had stayed in charge until she would come of age. He reminded her of her father, and she loved him more because of that. He would always come and go, also tending to the needs of her cousin, Jon Snow, who was the heir to the lands separating the North from the True North. Their ancestors had built a gigantic ice wall, supposably to protect the people from magical creatures, but now it was only frozen water, standing impossibly tall, making it harder for immigrants from both sides to cross safely.

They had grown up together for a while, but Jon had left to tend to his duties as an heir just before her father died. She hadn't seen him since, and she wouldn't have seen him so soon, if it wasn't for the funeral.

Arya signaled to the waiter again, bringing Sansa out of her thoughts. She was supposed to be mingling, talking to the lords and ladies, dukes and duchesses, the royals from both North and South that had come to the gala mainly to see her, using the charity as an excuse to observe her behave like a Queen in public, since it was so rare for her to do so. She knew her behavior was being watched, the big ballroom had eyes and ears everywhere, and yet she would not give them the satisfaction of misjudging her. They called her the Ice Queen for a reason. Let them see what they wanted to.

What she wouldn't do was give them any motive to speak badly of her family, and right now Arya's incessant drinking was starting to become an issue.

"Don't you think you had enough?"

Arya snorted, loudly enough to make a few close heads turn their way, and Sansa made a mental prayer to the gods. When her sister had agreed to come to the gala with her, Sansa had been incredibly happy. These events were terribly boring and excruciatingly long, and she was used to finish the night with her cheeks hurting from all the fake smiles she had to give. They were awful enough to be endured when one had company, but to be alone in one of them was to be thrown at sea, covered in blood, surrounded by sharks who would love nothing more than a good piece of you.

It was not like she was ever really alone, but there was only so little Brienne could do to save her for unwanted small talk with nosy royalty. The woman had been Sansa's guard for two years now, being approved by Uncle Benjen himself before the incident. She had also grown to becoming Sansa's friend and confident, one of the few she had the luxury to have. _ A Queen does not have friends, at least not many, and only fewer that she can actually trust. _Lord Baelish had told her that, one of the many unwanted and unrequested lessons he insisted on giving her. This one had, saldy, turned out to be true. Brienne was the only one outside of her family who Sansa truly trusted, and she was grateful when the woman took Arya's glass away, discreetly, chugging the champagne down before her sister could even attempt to take it back.

"That's hardly fair, I'm having the worst time. The least you could do is let me drink a little."

"Five glasses of champagne isn't a little, Arya. You know people talk. You're not just my sister tonight, you're princess Arya of Winterfell. You better start acting like it before you give anyone reason to critique the education I gave you."

She regretted it the moment she said it. Arya's face had gone sullen and she lowered her eyes to her hands. She had once again been too harsh, Arya had that effect on her sometimes, making her lash out, but her sister had just turned eighteen. She should not have to sit through boring galas filled with snub people who only cared about money or power or simply a good gossip. She should not have to behave so stiffly to be considered good and appropriate and a lady. She should not have to diminish herself to fit in into a title she had never asked for. But neither should Sansa. Yet here they were, surrounded by strangers who'd come to watch them like animals in a zoo. She would not indulge them, but she would also not hurt the people she loved. There was always a middle ground.

"Why don't you go dance with Gendry?"

Arya's eyes went up to her again, and Sansa noticed the tiniest bit of blushing on the girl's cheeks. She kept a straight face, smiling from the inside. _ Bingo. _

"Why would I want that?"

Fighting the urge to roll her eyes, Sansa came closer and whispered conspiratorially.

"Because you like him."

Arya was now red all over and she gave her a little shove. A small, reckless laugh escaped out of Sansa and she could see some people taking interest in her conversation with her sister. She quickly recomposed herself, staring at Arya's now very red face as she waited for an answer.

It came out in an angry whisper.

"I don't like him."

"Oh really? You too seemed very cosy while sneaking out of princess Shireen's birthday feast last month."

“We did not!”

"You did, Your Grace."

Arya rolled her eyes in annoyance at Brienne's words and all Sansa wanted was to tease her about it, but she knew it wouldn't be smart. It was one thing for a gossip website to post blurry pictures of Arya and late King Robert's son, Lorde Gendry, sneaking out of the Red Keep for a walk in the gardens during the young majesty's birthday. It was another thing entirely for the Northern Queen to have been heard discussing the affair during a fundraising gala with the Princess of Winterfell while bickering like adolescents. The talk of political marriage would never end, and the last thing Sansa wanted was for her sister to feel trapped in a situation like that.

"I thought it wasn't _ proper _ for a Queen to read gossip."

"It hardly is. Except not only it wasn't gossip, since I can perfectly recognize the pink dress that _I_ picked out for you to wear that night, but also I can't believe my little sister has a crush on a Lord and didn't tell me about it."

Arya sighed, giving in a little at the sound of Sansa’s hurt tone.

"It's _ not _a crush. He's just nice, that's all. He likes the same things I do and he’s easy to talk to."

"He has also been staring at our table for the past thirty minutes, Your Grace."

Both girls turned their heads to Brienne, who was trying very hard to hide a smirk. Arya was the first to speak.

"He has?"

"Oh my. How did we not notice?"

"He's standing right behind you, Your Grace. I think he might be trying to hide his presence, but he's not really the best in doing so."

Sansa grabbed Arya's arm right when she was making a move to turn her head around for a quick look. Instead of shifting her body and revealing to the entire room who was the object of their attention, she grabbed her purse and took out a small makeup mirror. This was something else Lord Baelish had told her. _ Never let your enemies know you know them. _ Of course, Lord Gendry - or simply Gendry, as he insisted on being called - was no enemy, but he was still the boy her sister had a crush on, so he mustn't know they were on to him.

She positioned the mirror as to may seem she was checking her - very light and proper for a Queen - makeup and there he was, sulking near one of the very old statues that decorated the ballroom, desperately trying to seem as he was paying no attention whatsoever to the northern royal table. Once again that night, Sansa was struck with the desire to laugh, but she kept it buried inside, closing the mirror instead and putting it back inside her purse, avoiding Arya's gaze as long as she could. It was only when she heard a frustrated whisper that she turned her face to her sister, who's grey eyes were wide and not at all hiding her anticipation.

"So?"

"So go dance with the boy, Arya."

"You really think I should?"

And Sansa knew her sister. She knew the kind of person who was hiding inside the beautiful black gown that _ again _Sansa had picked for her. She knew that if Arya really wanted to dance, she would’ve already gotten up and asked Gendry out to dance herself. The hesitance she saw on those greys eyes was something other than insecurity, she was just having trouble figuring out what it meant, so she decided to use her demanding voice, the same one she’d wear with Rickon when he was being a little brat.

“What is really the problem here? Tell me.”

“Well I just- I just didn’t wanna leave you alone, Sans.”

For the first time that night, Sansa was touched. She was also feeling a little embarrassed for the fact that her baby sister - and she would always be her baby sister, even if Arya was only two years younger - was reluctant to go dance with a boy she liked because she wouldn’t want to leave Sansa feeling sorry for herself. Which she already was, of course, since her date hadn’t been able to come. 

Not that she didn’t enjoy spending time with Arya and Brienne, but she missed him. 

She missed him a lot. 

She wanted to hug her sister, though, for her kindness and consideration, but that would draw too much attention so she simply placed her hand on top of Arya’s, squeezing it tight, and gave her a quick peck on the cheek.

“Ew, what was that for?”

“For you being you. Now go on, go dance with him. I’ll be fine, Brienne is just waiting to crack a few jokes to get me entertained.”

“I most certainly am not, Your Grace.”

But Sansa just smiled, squeezing Arya’s hand one more time. She grabbed her glass and took a sip of the expensive champagne, not bothering to watch as her sister got up from the chair next to her, going straight to Gendry and grabbing him by the hand to take him to the dance floor. She heard the people gasping, she felt the stares directed at her, but she remained unperturbed. _ Let them talk. _Just that one night, she would let them talk and she would not deprive her sister from enjoying herself with a perfectly fine young man. The crown was Sansa’s to carry, Arya should be able to have some fun, that was what those things were for anyway. Besides, it was just some dancing. She herself would love nothing more than to be dancing away in the arms of her date. But Queens don’t get the luxury to look sad for being alone, so Sansa kept her face cold, sipping her drink and allowing herself to look at her phone for the first time during the night.

No new texts.

She wouldn’t sigh, not in public, not in front of dozens of watchful eyes. She would give them no reason to question her solitude. She had just expected to have news by now, that’s all. She was well aware that the men in her family didn’t do well down South. But she’d rather die than show any sign of discomfort.

“I do wonder why he didn’t just came up to ask her.”

She lifted her eyes to Brienne, but the woman was looking behind Sansa, probably keeping her eyes on Arya and Gendry dancing together. Sansa gave her a small smile before responding.

“He wouldn’t dare, Brienne. Everyone’s afraid of the Ice Queen.”

“Not everyone, Your Grace.”

Not everyone indeed.

She hadn’t always been like that. In fact, even after losing mother and father, even after having to step in on Robb’s shoes, she was still as warm as a southern breeze. She had gotten it from her mother’s side, people would say. She was warm and kind and loving, and she was still all those things now, but the crown had taught her that not everyone should see her true nature. They’d associate it with weakness, and she could not afford to be weak, not while being responsible for the lives of every northern man, woman and child, including her family’s and her own. So, she had carve a mask of ice, perfecting it along the two years since she had been crowned, tearing it away only at the company of those she loved the most. She was only twenty now, and in many ways still too young to be ruling, but her duty would come first and she would act on it with pride.

Still, it was rather lonely, especially at times where she didn ‘t have anyone to share the burden with. Brienne was a friend, of course, but there was only so much that she understood, only so much that Sansa dared to confide as well, for fear of overwhelming the woman with her troubles. Uncle Benjen had once told her how the crown would cost her so much, like it had cost her father and his father before him. He had told her to cherish the moments of happiness for they would be her strength when the burnen got too heavy. She was having trouble holding on to those moments now, and she caught herself looking anxiously at her phone again. _Stop, or people will wonder why the Queen is so distracted with technology to pay attention to anything else. _A freshen up would do her good, she needed to clear her head and get her mask in place before doing one more obligatory round through the ballroom.

“Shall we go to the bathroom?”

“Do you really need to, Your Grace?”

Brienne’s inquisitive tone surprised her. The woman hardly ever questioned her, so the line was weird to say the least. Why would a simple walk to the bathroom be dealt with such suspicion? She was curious enough to indulge her, rather than to push like she was supposed to.

“Not really, it was more so I had something to do with myself before addressing the other guests again. Why do you ask?”

But Brienne simply gave her a side smile and gently gestured with her head to somewhere behind Sansa. The lack of response made her wonder, making her forget herself for a minute, she turned her head around to seek what was that Brienne was so smugly staring at. Only it wasn’t a what. 

It was a who.

_ Jon. _

He looked absolutely handsome in his tuxedo, missing a tie. He was smiling at her, the kinda smile you give someone when they caught you midstare, and he was looking at her like he’d just seen the door to the seven heavens in front of him.

Sansa’s heart skipped several beats. He was there, just across the room, he had come to join her, and it had been so long since she had last seen him that for a moment she doubted her own judgement.

The first time Sansa saw Jon after her father’s death was when we came back to Winterfell to bury Uncle Benjen’s frozen corpse on the castle crypts. The man had gone to stay with Jon shortly after Sansa’s coronation, and he had never returned, the royal car having been lost during a snowstorm north of the wall for almost three months. Jon’s man had finally been able to find the group, all having frozen to death, and the King Beyond the Wall had come to bring his uncle home as well as to congratulate his cousin on her rise to the northern throne.

She had shed no tears during the funeral, and it was then that the press had started calling her the Ice Queen. Standing like steel near her sobbing little siblings, she had watched the corpse of the man who had been a father to her for many years being lowered to the ground inside the dark crypt, and she had stayed there, looking at his statue, long after everyone else had left.

It was Jon who came to look for her, his face much as cold as hers, the monarch mask in place. They were strangers back then, hardly remembering each other from childhood, and the only thing they shared was a love for a dead man.

Surprisingly, that had been enough.

A little over a year later, the royal engagement had been announced. A political marriage, like many others, to bring peace and prosperity and to finally unite the northern lands. That was what was said in the news. That was also what was said in court, only it wasn’t entirely true. Yes, the lands beyond the wall would benefit from the much needed aid that the union would grant them, but what only a few people knew was that the Ice King had fallen for Winterfell’s daughter, and she had felt exactly the same.

Sansa rose to her feet, face still cold, and made her way to him, walking slowly even if every fiber of her being wanted her to run to his arms. He had been at a diplomatic mission in Dorne for three months now, staying with his stepmother’s family while aiding his siblings with complicated matters from the borders between Westeros and Essos. He had still texted her everyday, doing his best to call whenever he had free time, except for tonight. Tonight he had been radio silent and she had been so incredibly worried, only for him to show up looking absolutely perfect at the gala. She wanted to smack him, hard. She also wanted to kiss him.

She settled for an embrace, a hug that would immediately break her entire mask of coldness to the guests, but she didn’t care. All she saw was Jon, his smile, his grey eyes, looking at her like he was a sinner and she was salvation.

She loved the way he looked at her.

Stopping in front of him, too close to actually be proper, she greeted him with a small smile.

“Your Grace.”

“My Queen.”

She threw her arms around his neck, then, pulling him tight, closing her eyes to better feel his body pressed against hers. He held her just as tightly, circling her waist with his arms, even lifting her up a little as they swayed. The hug must’ve went on forever, and if she could she would stay like this, never letting him go, only if it was to take him straight to the heart tree, where she would swear to be his forever, like she so desperately wanted to. However, she was still a Queen, and she was always aware of her manners, especially around other people.

She let go of him, slowly, only to look at his face and see that he was blushing. She couldn’t resist the urge to touch him, placing both her hands at his cheeks, looking him straight in the eye as speaking.

“You look so handsome.”

He blushed even more and she smiled, dropping her hands, but Jon was faster, catching them both and bringing them to his mouth for a light kiss.

“No more than you, my love.”

Now it was her time to blush. She looked around, seeing almost every eye in the room at them, so she turned back to Jon, whispering.

“You know you’re not supposed to call me that. Not yet, anyways.”

“No one heard, Your Grace. Besides, I missed you.”

He was still holding her hands, and she was feeling a little reckless. Maybe it was the champagne. Maybe it was the fact that she was twenty and in love. Maybe it was simply being there with Jon. She felt like she could breathe again. He was there with her, he was home and they would soon be together forever, belonging to each other like they were meant to.

So she gave him a quick peck on the lips.

“Lady Sansa, this is hardly proper behaviour for a ruler.”

“It’s Your Grace or My Queen to you, and this behaviour is absolutely proper because I missed you too.” _ Let them talk. _

At that moment she didn’t care.

The Ice Queen was reunited with her King. And they were happy.

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, thank you Kate, you're a sweetheart.
> 
> We Jonsas got fed with the Emmys last night and I had to write something based on the very sweet hug between Sophie and Kit.
> 
> As always, English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes. I'll fix them as soon as I can.
> 
> Let me know if you enjoyed!
> 
> I'm @sansaravenclaw on twitter and tumblr if you ever wanna chat.
> 
> Thanks for reading Xxxxxx


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